Traumas of the Past
by DoctorWhovian18
Summary: Random One-shot, but could have an epilogue if people want. Post-Quest, in Minas Tirith, a seemingly harmless prank by Merry and Pippin, mainly Merry, sends Frodo into an episode of PTSD. Is better than it sounds. Warning: Shelob. Warning: PTSD, so if you're not comfortable with it, don't read. No slash, no profanity, just hurt-comfort.


**This is a plot bunny that hopped up a couple of weeks ago, but I haven't had a chance to write it until now. Basically, this takes place just after Aragorn's coronation, cause it seemed to me that Frodo still looked pale and so I presumed he was still recovering. Hope you all like it ^_^ And I will be updating The Hobbits go to Hogwarts later, hopefully.**

"Are you sure we should be doing this, Merry?" Pippin asked rather apprehensively as he followed his cousin down the hall.

"Of course. Frodo needs some cheering up." Merry replied offhand, holding up the object he intended to prank Frodo with.

"Yeah, but is a prank the best way to do it?" Pippin pressed. "I mean, pranking Frodo usually ends in him telling us off."

"Trust me, he'll find it funny." Merry insisted. They had now reached the room that Frodo had been given as soon as he had been well enough to leave the House of Healing.

It was an open, airy room with a large window right next to the bed. The walls, floor and bed linen were white, giving the place an angelic-like glow in the light from the early morning sun. The faint scent of honey still lingered from the cup of tea that Frodo had been given the previous night. Though he was regaining his strength quickly, at night the exhaustion returned and he would often need assistance.

The peaceful, happy expression on Frodo's sleeping face made Merry himself hesitate. Maybe a prank that would frighten him wasn't the best idea.

No, he thought, he'll be scared at first but he will find it funny.

Resolved, he gently placed the object on the sideboard next to him, so it would be the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. It was a bit crude, as he had made the object using twigs and a piece of fur that he was sure wouldn't be missed. Then he and Pippin backed out and retreated around the corner from where they could observe Frodo without him seeing them.

He nudged Pippin, who obediently placed his hands to his mouth and trilled a fairly accurate bird call. Frodo stirred at the noise, but didn't wake fully, so Pippin repeated the noise.

With a moan of protest, Frodo opened his eyes.

Merry was expecting him to cry out, yes, possibly even scream, then immediately look around for the culprits once he realised it was a joke.

Frodo did scream, but it wasn't a noise made by someone startled; it was the scream of someone who was absolutely terrified. Merry looked back at Pippin, alarmed, as he quickly realised that he'd done something very wrong…

* * *

Frodo was pulled out of a very pleasant dream involving being back home at Bag End and eating some of Bilbo's best mushroom soup by the sound of a birdcall. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes.

A shriek left his mouth before he could stop it, for there, in front of him, was Shelob. Her eyes glittered back at him malevolently, her hairy body and legs reached out towards him. Her pincers moved and snapped menacingly just a couple of inches away from his face.

He looked around wildly as he pushed himself backwards, away from the monstrous creature. Where had his room in Minas Tirith gone? Where was the warm bed Aragorn had placed him into the previous night?

He felt himself go cold all over as he realised that it was nothing more than a dream. He hadn't completed the quest yet. The Ring still hung heavily around his neck. He had merely passed out. Those long days of recovery…were figments of his imagination. The thought made him want to weep with sorrow, as his limbs once again felt weighed down with exhaustion, but he couldn't, because he had to move.

Shelob was above him.

Crawling backwards, he felt his back hit rock. Breathing heavily, he looked around for a way of escape and saw the stairs that led onwards into Mordor several metres to his right.

Shelob's chattering and clicking and growling was the only sound he could hear, and she snapped her pincers near his face again. He looked up to see her manipulating her huge form above him, stinger poised and ready to strike. He knew what it would do; paralyse him completely, followed by a feeling of a horrible sickness upon awakening. He didn't know how he knew, as he hadn't yet been stabbed. The thought was whisked away from his mind in his panic as he rolled away when the stinger struck downwards.

The Ring seemed so heavy now that it practically pinned him to the ground. But he had to, he had to pull himself back up, to run, to escape. He had to destroy it.

But he could find no strength to move. Shelob's chattering grew louder as she realised that her prey was helpless.

"I'm sorry, Sam." He murmured, and the guilt for telling his best friend to leave after all they had been through together hit him harder than if Shelob had dropped her bulk onto him. He cried out from the pain of the guilt, the pain of the Ring, and the pain of Shelob's stinger as he felt it pierce the back of his neck.

"Frodo!"

What was that? It sounded like Sam himself. But, Sam couldn't be here. He would have reached the bottom of the stairs by now. It was only the hallucinogenic effects of his exhausted mind.

"Frodo, come back to us, Frodo!"

The paralytic hadn't taken effect yet, so he curled up into a ball, wishing to drive the voice away.

"Tithen min, awaken!"

This was a different voice. Strider. It was commanding, powerful, but also false. Frodo knew he was alone. The mission had failed. He would become dinner for Shelob. What a shameful ending.

"I apologise, Frodo, but it is the only way."

A slight frown creased Frodo's forehead at those words. Then suddenly something struck his cheek hard. A hand. Something had slapped him?

To his shock, the scene around him melted away. Shelob's looming, ominous form vanished, as did the rocks and fire-blazed sky above him. Replaced was a white ceiling and several blurry faces leaning over him.

He was breathing more heavily than if he had just run a race. The heaviness around his neck was gone, although he felt just as tired and weighed down without the Ring. What was going on? Which world was real?

"What's…" he tried to speak, but his throat stung and his voice got stuck halfway up.

Blinking several times, the faces cleared and he recognised Aragorn, Sam and Arwen.

"Shh, it's alright, Frodo, you're safe." The latter murmured quietly, stroking the hair away from his forehead where it had stuck to it with sweat.

Slowly, he calmed his breathing. Unbidden, tears leaked out of his eyes as an overwhelming relief settled over him. His vision darkened slightly as the feeling made him light-headed. Aragorn gently picked him up and held him to his chest. Comforted, Frodo turned and snuggled into him.

"What happened?" he whispered.

"Whatever you saw was not real." Aragorn said softly. "It was merely a vision of your memory, summoned up by a thoughtless prank orchestrated by a certain Brandybuck. It was a flashback, nothing more, and if I have anything to say about it, it won't happen again."

Frodo frowned. "Merry?"

"Yes, Meriadoc, come forth…now!" Aragorn was in King mode as he called Merry forward. Frodo heard his cousin's shuffling, hesitant steps.

"Frodo, I'm so sorry." He heard him say, and it sounded like Merry was crying. "I didn't think…I didn't know it would…neither you or Sam had mentioned a spi…"

"Well, I think it's up to Frodo as to whether or not to forgive you…and what punishment to deal out." Aragorn interrupted.

"No punishment." Frodo murmured tiredly. "He didn't know. You're forgiven, Mer."

Now that all the fuss was over, Frodo just felt exhausted again. His eyes slipped shut of their own accord.

"Thank you, Frodo." Merry said, and he did sound genuinely regretful.

"Hmm, Frodo may have said no punishment, Merry, but I am the King now, so don't think you've gotten away so easily." Aragorn pointed out. There was no reply, but Frodo smiled slightly as he pictured the expression on Merry's face.

He began to drift, and so was placed back on the bed, the covers warmly pulled up to his chin. Someone – Sam, he could tell – took his hand in theirs and gently stroked it, lulling him off into sleep.

"Sleep now, tithen min." Arwen's voice said in his ear. "Forget all hurts of the past."

And Frodo did.

 **Hope you liked that and that it wasn't too clichéd, cause I have a feeling this idea has been done before. I hope I put enough of an original twist on it ^_^ The fluff in this story at the end is greatly influenced by the masters Frodo Baggins at Bag End and Shirebound, so if either of you read this, thanks ^_^**


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